Life is not My Game to Play
by CrownedInThorns
Summary: Life is not a comedy, it is not a tragedy. It is something all its own, entirely controlled by fate. It is not his game to play. Fate has granted him with unmatched intelligence, is this life's only gift? MelloNear: There are never too many
1. OneSided

I must go into the lavatory quickly, trying my best not to limp when the blood gushes out of my knee, staining my white cotton pants. I must avoid succumbing to the straining sensation in my throat. Hold my head straight, directly in central position. I am grounded, confident, emotionless. For the first time in a long time, you, the worst of all my tormentors, hurt me for real.

I have gotten into the habit of hiding small first aid kits in the washrooms. They are held by duct tape, and positioned on the bottom of the benches directly facing the large communal bath. This is how it is for all rooms. In every kit I have included bandaids of various sizes, antiseptic, and a bleach pen for removing bloodstains. I go to the nearest bathroom whenever someone is violent with me, driven by anger that they themselves cannot understand.

_'So this is my reward for taking all of the agony. I win. I am pure. I am perfection,'_ I stand up sluggishly upon retrieving the small plastic case, looking at the mirror, finding myself unable to stop.

Another thing is happening for the first time in a long time, I am crying. _'God, I am such a child. I can't do this, I can't cry. If I cry I lose. I'm losing. Damn eyes, stop this.'_

The crying won't end so I try to ignore it and put the antiseptic on my knee. The bleeding has stopped and now only a thin coating of red remains where my skin was torn away. The antiseptic abrasively stings me, but I am not upset by it. It performs a necessary function, as everyone does at the Wammy House, teacher and student alike.

I am rational, unresponsive, and just as many say, I am also proud. But I must confess quite irrationally: if I had to choose between the physical sting of this ointment or the pain of a love that I am ninety-seven percent certain is one sided, I would scrape off every inch of my thick skin, and douse myself in antibiotic liquid each and every day of my life.


	2. Tears

Everyday I hear his name spoken next to mine in careful whispers between teachers that I never liked in the first place. What do _they_ really know about him anyway? I'm the one who has to spend the most time with the white-haired little faggot, and I'll tell you he's not nearly as smart as everyone thinks he is. Some of the things that others praise him for so greatly, it seems only I can recognize that they are just quirks. 

For one thing, what kind of successor to the greatest genius the world has ever seen spends nearly four hours of every single fucking day solving the same god damn puzzle? Unless Roger manages to make puzzles with different shaped pieces in the exact same likeness on a daily basis, which I doubt he would do even for everybody's beloved little prodigy, the kid is actually a dumb ass. By creative and social standards at least.

But what can I say? I hate him without doubt, and for the longest time I thought that even if we weren't in our respective positions my hatred of him would be the same. As time went on, I realized that if the world really was a different place we would probably be friends. But things being as they were, I made it my life's goal to torture him, to make him feel all the tearing emotions of inadequacy that I felt. I wanted to watch him fall to what I had handled for so many years.

For a long time I thought he won, just as he had always done before. The more time I spent trying to make him miserable, the more I found myself wanting to protect him from the pain that I was so obsessively trying to inflict. In a nutshell, I started hating him less, liking him more. Here's the reason why I thought he would be the one to win this unspoken battle, he remained as indifferent as always. Even when I pushed him to his knees, when I did things that I swore I'd never speak of again, he remained collected and cold as ever.

I clearly remember thinking to myself late at night as my roommate snored beside me, '_If this is just some sort of sick act, he deserves an Oscar.'_

But the truth is, the perfection that had come to madden me into passions that I am still figuring out even today began to shatter. Finally I managed to mess with his head. He grew angry. He opened up. As a matter of fact, the boy that everyone thought was so innocent and frail went into wild fits of emotion that even I had to shake my head at. A part of me loved watching him lose his cool over the feelings he had for me, whatever they were, but then there was another part of me deep inside that broke just as much as he did.

I watched his hot, passionate, angry tears fall on my floor many, many times. Some of it was truly from what I did to him. Most of it, as he told me in those long afternoons when neither of us really felt like filling our respective roles anymore, was from the pressure of being on the top and only being able to look down into the darkness below.

I look again at the teachers who mutter amongst themselves with distain as they speak of two people who nobody will ever know by true name. These words I am writing are my tears of guilt and shame over hurting the only person who has been my source of motivation and joy. My only equal, my opposite in every way.


	3. Fires

Note to Readers: Hello there, I really want to thank you for reading this story! I especially want to thank those who have reviewed me thus far. This is my first attempt at fan fiction; I hope it is coming out okay. If it's not too annoying (if it is you can skip it and just go to the story,) I'd also like to say a little about myself so that those who are reading this know how frequently and when to expect updates. I am a fifteen-year-old student who loves reading, creative writing, drawing, and manga.

I will try to write a segment two days of every weekend...but I can't guarantee it. It is unlikely that I will be able to post anything on the weekdays...cuz wellllll...I'm not very bright and I really need most of the night to complete my homework. After that I am often too lethargic to write. My summer vacation begins soon, so I will most likely update more during that time if I'm not at summer camp. Oh yeah, and I love grunge music, I listen to it while I write.

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Being a light sleeper, I immediately opened my eyes to see him standing directly above me, leaned over so that his nose was just touching mine. It was the first day of the New Year, and judging from the funny peaceful look on his face, he really had snuck into the teachers' lounge with Matt to see what kind of booze he could get a hold of. I heard them talking about it through the thin wall separating my bedroom and the one they shared. I could only conclude that this was some sort of drunk bet. Let's scare Near. Ha, I wish you luck.

"What are you doing in my room?" I asked.

"Hey, wanna come play with me an' Matt?" He finally withdrew his face a farther distance from mine until he stood fully erect, towering over my smaller prostrate form.

"No Mello, and you two don't want to play with me. You're clearly drunk."

It was sort of mildly amusing to watch him; I had never seen anyone who was drunk before. I had learned long ago that when one drinks, their judgment is impaired and if enough alcohol is ingested then speech will become slurred. What was funny is that both Mello and Matt, who appeared to have ingested even more alcohol than his blonde friend, had become exaggerated caricatures of their normal selves. Mello had become even more extroverted and self-assured than usual. His redheaded companion was lying silently in the corner of the room with his preferred pair of goggles fixed over his blue eyes and a bowl of Cheetos at his side from which he sampled at a constant rate.

"Don't be silly, you little shiihit. I was jus eating chocolate. Chocolate doesn't have any alcohol dumb ass," he took up a girlish giggle. Due to his deliberate efforts to either avoid me or torment me, I didn't know Mello all that well; even I knew that a sober Mello, sensitive about his girlish appearance, would never let himself laugh like that.

"Please leave my room, or I will have to call Roger," I said, turning on my stomach so my eyes no longer faced him, expecting him to leave me now. Mello had never resorted to violence before like many of the other boys had. This day was not really an exception, but soon you will see why I chose to start the story here instead of when we first met. That is an interesting story, but a story that is not particularly notable to me.

"I wouldn't leave you, my dear liddle sweetie," and all of a sudden I felt the pressure of his body on top of me, pinning my wrists to the floor, "won' let you call him, you can' call him if you can' get away stupid."

But this wasn't only about keeping me from calling Roger, because the boy who had told me he hated me too many times to count was now running his tongue along the side of my neck. _Was he trying to humiliate me?_ I turned my face so my nose was planted directly in the ground and struggled to free myself from his grasp. Even Matt took notice now: he sat up, removed the right eyepiece of his goggles, and the jaw of his mouth dropped ever so slightly as his eyebrows raised. Indeed, I would have found his expression comical if I had not been in the situation I was presently in.

"Hey man, don-don't do that!" Besides this interjection, Matt did little else before deciding that helping me wasn't worth the effort.

And perhaps the greatest fire in this hell that seemed to be spinning around me, the fire that almost drove me to showing my emotions for the first time since I had arrived to this small orphanage for gifted children was the one burning in my own cheeks.


	4. Consequences

Note: I have now revised this for any grammatical errors I could find, and added in a few extra things that I either helped with transitioning (something I am very bad at :P) or I thought were kind of fun. I will probably be doing revisions for most Chapters, sort of like Kuro-Hana vs. Animanda fansubs. The first copy will be fast, and cranked out like a row of bubbles on standardized tests when you realize you only have ten minutes left for the whole damn section. The second will be any revisions for grammatical errors as well as extra crud I throw into to (I think?) make the story flow better. :)

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'_Look at him; he's squirming like a caterpillar. It's a little cute…kind of turned on. Ugh! Fuck! Stupid hormones. I don't even swing that wa—'_

"What are you doing to Near?!" A girl around my age with light brown hair in pigtails was standing at the threshold of Near's bedroom door, which neither me nor Matt had thought to close behind us. The ball and jacks that she had been holding in her hand dropped to the ground; the ball bounced a few times before rolling off to the side.

'_Shit,'_ was the only word that was running through my brain. My body was doing a much better job of expressing itself in regards to the arrival of Near's only friend, a protective and concerned girl named Linda. Before I could turn away, I threw up directly onto the white haired boy underneath me…it was something that my stomach had been telling me to do for a while, thanks to all that chocolate liquor I drank, but if it weren't for the girl I think I could have kept it in. He let out a quiet surprised squeak, turning his head up so that his chin was level to the floor. I couldn't really see the expression on his face since I was still on top of him, but I'm guessing it wasn't full of sunshine and rainbows.

"Oh god…" she muttered to herself, looking sick before yelling at the top of her lungs, "ROGER! Mello tried to hurt Near and he just threw up all over him! Near could get sick! Help!" The girl sprinted down the hall towards Roger's large imposing office.

Finally, Near jerked out from underneath me, skidding across the floor before picking himself up again and making a panicked gait for the closest bathroom he could find. I rolled away from the tiny bits of whatever I had eaten that still remained on the hard wooden floor, and sat up stunned, realizing for the first time just how much I was in for it. Matt too.

The redhead was pacing around the room now, getting out the lighter that he said his dad gave him just before he died, and flicking it on just for the sake of watching it burn. He only took out the lighter when he needed to relax and forget about something; I guess whatever momentary high the alcohol had held for him was wearing off just as mine was. With the comfort he seems to find in his lighter, I wouldn't be surprised if he took up smoking later in his life just as an excuse to use it.

He stopped his pacing. There was a long, apprehensive silence between us.

"What were you thinking Mello, suggesting that we go into the teacher's room like that?" His voice was controlled, but every now and then you could hear the fear bubble up into his voice. He was really upset. So was I.

"It was your idea just as much as mine! It's not like you're any less responsible for this than I am. Hell, you drank a lot more than I did. Don't give me this shit!" I was angry with him, but I was even angrier with myself. Linda was not a particularly observant person; she probably wouldn't have noticed that anything was going on if I hadn't been lying on top of Near. And for all the gods' mercy why in the hell did I start licking him?

Of course I knew why. In my drunken thoughts, I recalled a video they had shown in one of our growth and development classes about rape. Like most teaching materials for health classes that were meant to scare children, it included a chaste dramatization, blacking out right before anything _really_ happened. But, before it blacked out I saw the man push the woman against the wall and do what I had just done to my frail, emotionless rival. He had taken the innocent woman's neck as his first target.

I know this is really sick, but the effect rape had on its victims kind of fascinated me, and when I was watching it I thought of Near. I don't want to rape him or anything, that'd make me a psycho. But, I did want to make him scared of me, get a sick feeling in his heart whenever he saw me. I figured that's what rapists do; it's a terrible but effective way to have power over someone. Unlike just beating someone up, rape also has a psychological effect advantageous to the perpetrator; it makes the victim feel as though they are responsible, and therefore they are less likely to reveal the criminal even if it's someone they know and can easily identify.

_"Mello, Matt, and Near, please report to Roger's office,"_ I heard a neutral voice over the intercom. For now I was still cool with the other guys; they didn't know what I'd done yet. Since we were the top three students most likely to succeed L, nearly everyone probably thought Roger was calling us in to test our various abilities when they heard the announcement. Except, knowing Linda, she was probably telling the whole story to all the other girls, and exaggerating when she felt it was appropriate.

Matt pocketed his lighter and looked towards me. Left with no other option, we both set out from the once-unsoiled bedroom to meet whatever punishment Roger had in store for us.

While I was walking, I saw Near coming out from the bathroom. He had exchanged his sullied white cotton clothes for a cleaner replica, but had not had time to wash his hair. Even though he had resumed his typical icy expression, he couldn't help but look sheepish with my regurgitated food nestled in his white curls, keeping a slower pace specifically to distance himself between us.

"Judging from Linda's brief account of what she saw, it is quite certain that it was you two, Mello and Matt, who unrightfully entered the teachers' lounge and consumed a large quantity of the alcohol that remained from a New Year's party held the previous night. You both know that such conduct is not only forbidden by the rules of the Wammy House, it is forbidden by national law. Matt, you will be given a month's worth of detention, and both of you will be forbidden to participate in any school activities outside of the premises. Matt, you are dismissed. Please return to your room."

"Yes, sir," my friend tilted his head in shame, and left the office slowly to try and hear what Roger told me.

"Mello, your clear resentment of Near is an extremely serious matter that cannot be ignored. Now, you have compromised his health, and have sexually harassed him to a degree so _disgusting_ I can hardly believe it," Roger was turning red and his brows were furrowed. My knees began to shake and give out from under me, "under normal circumstances, I would create a situation in which both of you would be kept as far apart as possible. However, due to your respective positions in becoming L's successor, it is crucial that you are able to learn from one another to reach your full potentials. I am proposing that you two meet every day for two hours. One hour will be spent with a teacher to mediate your discussions, the second hour the teacher will leave and the two of you will be left to your own devises. This is what you will be doing in place of detention Mello, if I receive approval from Near."

The white haired boy answered quickly, looking up from where he had chosen to sit. The answer, at the time, seemed more damning to me than a lifetime of detentions.

"Yes Roger, it is fine with me."


	5. Memories

Most of us have memories of our parents before they died. Those who don't make up the parents they wish they had, nobody likes being told that they are an unwanted bastard child forfeited by a crack head teenage mother. But what if your parents aren't even dead, and you were put in this place for a different reason you're never allowed to talk about? You feel the words hot like fire in your throat, waiting to be screamed: the ultimate loneliness, where none of your peers will ever be able to really understand you because you have been ordered to never speak of it. It, it, it…. whatever it is. I have no sympathy for those with happy memories, or for those with no memories of parents at all who have all the power in the world of hope and imagination.

I am the child caught in between, left to wonder if there are any others in the Wammy House with the fire words, waiting to be screamed in hopes to ease the aching in your throat. The lonely, cowardly, scared Near that nobody ever sees shake beneath the cheap white sheets. I am someone who must be repressed; I am praised for it after all, until eventually the apathetic human façade leaks from the outside in, poisoning me along the way. The truth that I can never tell is…

Yeah, my parents are still out there, and I was taken from them. Good riddance.

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Note to Readers: I am in the middle of studying for exams. I took a fifteen minute break and this is the piece of shit that was produced within that time. The exam today took me FIVE HOURS!!! A FRESHMAN HIGH SCHOOL EXAM FOR ONE FRIGGING CLASS SHOULD NOT TAKE THAT LONG!! (I go to one of those ridiculous gifted schools, when I said I wasn't bright before, I meant in relation to my other classmates with I.Q.'s of 172 and other such ridiculous numbers. I only have an I.Q. of 145, but my verbal reasoning and comprehension is in the 99th percentile.) I have ADD, so I get extended time, normally the exam was written for three hours. It really stressed me out, but I think I did okay...the only thing I can do quickly is creative writing. :) Writing is also one of the few things that relaxes me and makes me happy, oh how I would love to write as a future career. But, I am always hearing about these fucking writing prodigies, I don't stand a chance...I am going to wind up in a job where I am very unhappy. I am sorry, I wasted your time...I better stop writing this negativity monster that I was only meant to be a sentence or two now while I still can.


	6. Trust Falls

The teacher finally left the room. _My_ room, as well as poor Matt's. Man, was I pissed. It was the first day of this punishment meant to last a month. Near sat across from me, twirling his goddamned hair. I stared at him for a minute, he stared back; I pulled my unfinished and melting chocolate bar from my pocket.

"May I have some chocolate, Mello?" his small, soft naive voice came for the first time since the teacher had left nearly six minutes ago, according to the clock above the desk I shared with my best friend and roommate.

"Fuck no," I glared at him, trying to make it clear that me and chocolate had a very personal connection. I mean, what the hell would he say if I asked him if I could drop his "Death Star" Lego set out a third story window? _'Well, there's one idea to make him miserable.'_ But, to my surprise, his response to was giving me a creepy-ass smile, turning his head down in such a way that his hair covered his eyes.

"I just thought that since you're obsessed with me, you wouldn't mind giving me some of your candy."

"What the hell?! I am not obsessed with you, I don't care about you at all!" He was asking for a broken nose, and I think he knew it too. But, when I thought about it, I _was_ really pretty obsessed. It had actually reached a point where I wasn't trying to surpass Near so I could be L's successor, I was trying to surpass Near so I could be destroy his dreams and prove that I was better once and for all. He tried to act indifferent, but for people as smart as myself it is obvious when someone admires a man so much that he wants to be him. That is the kind of relationship that Near had with L.

"Your reaction is like that of a guilty criminal, desperately trying to prove his case by emotion rather than evidence. What evidence do you have to prove that you aren't obsessed with me, Mello?"

What he said made my blood boil. He was mocking me with his words, just as I had mocked him with my body. I thought back on how I had desecrated his small form with my vomit. He was not strong enough, nor was he inclined to use violence by nature. This was his revenge; he had found an opening and he was trying to win. He held his chin high in defiance; his cold smirk remained plastered on his face. It sent me over the edge.

I heard him gasp when I stood up and lifted his tiny body into my arms, holding him tight so he could not struggle. He was built like a small child, and his skin was cold and thin and smooth, just as I thought it would be. My heart began to tingle and my eyes watered up a little, what the hell was wrong with me? I began to walk towards the large window, open to a warm spring day. Slowly, I moved his body away from mine out towards the gap.

"I'll prove I don't care about you, right here, right now."

Just as I began to put his head out of the window, he went complete rigid, letting out an ear-shattering scream. The instinct of a boy who was used to getting in trouble and not getting caught kicked in. Quickly, I pulled his head from the window, dropped him on his skinny ass, and covered his mouth firmly with my hand. His eyes were wide, and he was shaking all over. Finally, I removed my hand.

"G-god, Mello, don't ever do that again. Please, god, don't ever do that again, please," he was crying, crying, crying. The Near I knew would never allow this. _This_ was my fault; I had scared him so much that he was crying his tears onto my floor.

"I wouldn't have actually let you go, Near," I said tentatively. Bad idea.

"Just shut up, please. Don't talk about this."

So I did what he asked. The teacher came some time later, to tell us that the time we were to spend together was over. Near left to god knows where, and I spent the rest of the day outside playing with the other boys.


	7. Surprises

When I can't sleep, I go down into the basement to lie by the warm furnace. When I am there, it is my time to think and consider things. That night, I stayed there because I was ashamed of letting myself go. I thought and considered why I permitted my instinct to get the better of me. My eyes closed as I breathed in the warm air coming from the old cast iron contraption adjacent to me.

It was too similar for my comfort to a certain day. The day that started my path to becoming Near, when I was still a sweet innocent child who couldn't recognize all the problems spinning like a vortex around me. In those days I was like a fire. I do not feel like explaining this now, this is my journal; I can do what I please. Now, I just want some time to think and remember.

'_Mommy, you're supposed to be in bed. The doctor man says you're sick.'_

'_No, I'm all right. I have something I have to take care of. A surprise for you, Nate.'_

_I love surprises. I wonder what mommy is doing? She doesn't have a present clamped between her rough hands. Maybe she's waiting for daddy, he will be back from church soon. I love daddy. I love mommy, even though she punishes me sometimes and is very sick says the doctor man. The doctor man smells funny, and he asks me lots of questions about mommy. Mommy told me what to say when he asks his questions, because if I don't answer the way mommy says then I'll go to the place for bad people. I'll go to hell, where there are no toys, which daddy buys to say sorry for sick mommy. There's just a big fire pit instead._

_Mommy lifts me up high into the air. She is carrying me up the stairs. I guess it is late. She is taking me up to bed. But, now she's walking past the bed. She's walking to the window. Mommy is very sick, and daddy says I'm big. I'm taller than all the other boys at preschool. I'm too big for her to carry. Why are we going to the window? It is a starry night. Maybe she wants to sing me the star song. I like the star song._

_Why is mommy opening the window? It is cold outside. The doctor man especially for me says I can't go into the cold. I don't like him though, because he always acts sad. Mommy is smiling, she looks happy. Now she is putting my head out the window, now my body. She wants me to see the stars while she sings me the song. But, when she talks she sounds scary._

'_Surprise, Nate.'_


	8. Uncertainties

Thank you so much to those who reviewed, favorited, and put _Life is Not My Game To Play_ on their story alerts list, you have no idea how much you make my day! As requested, I am now making my chapters quite a bit longer...as a result, the wait will probably be longer as well between chapters.

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I opened the door with my usual rambunctious burst of energy after a long and trying day. Matt, who had been lying innocently in bed in the nightshirt provided by the Wammy House nearly jumped a foot when he saw me. To be honest, Matt was the only guy I felt comfortable with at the time; he could always make me laugh and he listened to whatever crazy idea struck my fancy. I knew him to be quite hormonal, so I felt okay talking to him about whatever girl I thought I had a thing for. He didn't even mind that when I was mad I could be mean, he usually just laughed right along, knowing it was merely a small amount of time that would pass. 

"Uh, hey Mello, how was your day?"

"Jesus, you're wearing a nightgown and asking me faggoty questions like that, and I thought my day was fucked up enough already! What are you, my unofficial wife?"

He stifled his usual loud, boisterous laugh for the sake of my ego, "Ha! So you don't like that idea? I could make you hot chocolate, and chocolate cake. I also wouldn't ever have PMS, unlike some people I know, _Chocolate boy_," he was chuckling now. God damn, he knew how to piss me off. I would always wind up laughing about it afterwards though, so I suppose all is well that ends well.

"So really, how was your time with the little white haired senorita? Was he as pretty as usual? Maybe you should have brought flowers, a red one would go well in his hair don't you think?"

"Oh, just shut up. I want to die, just the thought of having to spend a month doing this makes me think Sisyphus had it easy," Matt just turned and looked at me for the longest time.

"Having to roll a boulder up a hill and never being able to reach the top for an eternity, that is the worst punishment. Sisyphus was known to be the craftiest of men, continually avoiding death by deceit, by not following the rules. He did things our way, screw the law, right man?" I hated when Matt got serious like this, he always got such a deep sad look in his eye, like tears were about to spill over the brims onto his long, thick lashes, "Besides, who the hell do we have impress any more who will really love us for our achievements? Our parents are dead. The Sisyphus way is the only way to go, I'm glad that there's no way hell is real," he flashed me a fake smile before turning his head again and reassuming the same faraway look.

Sighing, I walked towards the bureau that we shared to get a shift identical to the one my friend was wearing. It had a few wrinkles in it, since I wasn't one for wasting my time doing something as stupid as folding clothes, but it didn't really matter. Matt was closing his eyes and lying on his back lost in thought, so I didn't even have to worry about him looking. I quickly changed nevertheless, there were too many times when I had seen a little more of my best friend than I wanted to, simply by walking innocently through the door while he was changing his clothes. He still has very nice underwear, it looks comfortable.

"Knock, knock," I said as I edged toward him jokingly hitting his forehead, "mind if I sit down? It's hard to talk about any important shit when you're all the way across the room."

"Sure thing, man," he smiled, "you know, you really are just like a girl sometimes."

"What's that supposed to mean, are you fucking retarded?"

"Well I mean, always wanting to talk about your feelings and stuff…or sort out your feelings through talking at least. You never really want to move around, like playing sports," I opened my mouth to object, "Oh yeah, sure you do soccer and everything. But your heart isn't in it, I can tell. Sometimes I wonder if you'd be better friends with Near than with me and the rest of the boys. He never wants to do anything either." I felt him shift in the bed; by this point I was staring off towards our window just trying to figure out why Matt had gotten so serious all of a sudden. _(Was he...jealous of Near? I did spend an awful lot of time thinking about him.)_ He rarely ever got like this, but when he did it was usually about his dad. It amazed me how strong his feelings still were for his father, who had died over eight years ago. It was sort of like his dad was his hero, he certainly sounded like a tough guy from Matt's description.

"Ugh, as if I'd ever actually be friends with that little shit. He thinks he's so smart. That's why he never goes anywhere, he thinks he's too good for us, you know? I'm not like that, no matter what I acknowledge that even the most unlikely guy can be the biggest opponent or the greatest equal I could ever have. Unfortunately, with the way things are now it looks like I'm doomed to have the white-haired little freak as my opponent until I die."

All of a sudden, I felt Matt's big warm palm against my wrist, pushing it down into the mattress, he was looking down and the long, fashionable hairstyle that he had to fight Roger over hung across his eyes.

"You're as cute as a girl too, you know. Mello, you're kind of beautiful. I think I might love you a little, Mello. Is that okay? If it's not, I'll make it," his face was flushed, and the most sincere blue eyes in the world were meeting with my own. I tried to move back a little as his nose touched mine. This was my best friend…. so what the hell was going on?

The back of my head hit the wall gently, reminding me there was no place to go, and right now I was wondering if I wanted to be anywhere else in the first place. After all, Matt's amiable nature as well as his surprisingly good looks had made him quite popular with the girls of the Wammy House. I had to admit, to his credit even I had checked out what I was sleeping next to on a nightly basis once or twice, and _damn_.

His lips crashed in to mine just as I had expected them to, warm and awkwardly sweet. His palm continued pressing down into my slight wrist until the pressure was so hard I was certain it would leave a mark. I guess it was nice that we were best friends and therefore I knew any history with romantic relationships had yet to begin. This was the first time he was testing the blooming feeling of what it was to be a man, and from the way in which his strong wiry form pressed against my own, he was enjoying it. I was being held in the arms of my best friend, who for that night had decided to also fill a place as my lover.

"If it's too hard, just say so okay? I really like you; I don't want to hurt you. This is all I can do so please just let me. I'll make it feel okay," he closed those rather sweet blue eyes once again, as the warm sensation of his lips left my own. I gasped from the surprising warmth of his breathing on my neck. Those same tender, but strong mannish lips began to touch wherever his gentle breath grazed. His tenderness turned out to be just a small test of the waters.

Before I knew what was going on, he had taken my neck into his mouth, swirling his forceful tongue across my skin. I could feel his speeding heartbeat against my chest as he pushed me further against him and further into this crazy tunnel; I was his fucking prisoner and for the first time it was me who was doing what he asked. Against my will, I called out a soft moan as he unexpectedly bit into my neck. It was painful, but it felt good…if that makes any sense. It really doesn't, does it?

He took this as a sign of encouragement, eagerly meeting his lips once again with my own, but this time it was hungrier, he had pushed his tongue into my mouth this time, and not to be outdone I attempted to return his affections. It wasn't long before we were both panting and groaning, shamefully reluctant to break for air. We were shifting on the bed in as if we were marionettes controlled by strings, and before I even knew what was going on I was lying underneath my notably taller friend as he ran those same big hands through my hair, never growing tired of the sensation. Instead of lips, our bodies were crashing together, as I felt the pressure of his weight against my body. When I turned my face away, he began to lick my cheek. Wasn't this getting out of hand? Were we really going to do it? Not even to my best friend would I admit how scared I was right then.

A soft knock came through from the wall I had been pushed against just a few minutes ago.

"Would you mind fornicating later, perhaps? It is quite difficult to sleep with such noise."

_Damn Near._ Matt quickly released his hold on me and I made my way for my own small bed. Before I could go, my friend took my hand in his, planting a soft kiss on every fingertip.

"Don't worry, Mello. It's only over if you want it to be," his affectionate whisper met my ear once more. I felt my cheeks redden, despite my efforts not to blush, and I walked towards my bed once again. I just couldn't think of anything to say.

_To be honest, I really had no idea whether I wanted it to end or not._

* * *

All Apologies Romantic angst fanfiction is not my background, I am in fact...a serial killer horror fiction writer! Yes, that would explain the chapter before this one, wouldn't it? Haha, but I felt in a sort of lighthearted mood for the first time in a long time, and this is what resulted: an overhormonal Matt trying to be romantic with his best friend, or rather...two fourteen year old boys first experiencing such a situation for the first time. I am sorry for the pain I may have caused you reading this chapter, I TRULY AM BUT IT HAD TO FRIGGING HAPPEN! _  
_


	9. SelfWorth

I had come into my room just a short time after, tired from the soothing, repetitive sounds of the clunky furnace. As I closed my eyes, I was surprised to still hear Mello and Matt talking amongst themselves; I worried that Mello might be taking this time to talk about how "messed up Near gets around windows." Then, I heard foreign noises, more quiet than their usual boisterous and joking language. I was curious, and took advantage of the thin walls, leaning my left ear close to the cold painted plaster.

My heart beat just a little faster as I heard the two pant, moan and shift about on the mattress closest to the wall. _'Clearly, the two are fucking each other's brains out and enjoying it a considerable amount,'_ that was what I so crudely thought at the time, and part of me still believes it despite an adamant denial from Mello. I probably would have let them keep at it, if it weren't for the sake of my sleep. I need a great deal of sleep; my mind does not function properly otherwise, and I wasn't going to risk my ability to focus in class the next day for the sake of two horny teenagers avoiding embarrassment.

"Would you mind fornicating later, perhaps? It is quite difficult to sleep with such noise," I responded frankly and properly, just as my reputation had always entailed me to. However, I was alarmed to discover that my voice and wording made me sound like a jealous schmuck, pardonnez mon français; perhaps I was… jealous, that is.

I would be a liar if I said that I do not wish for companionship of any sort, why then, do I continually make such an effort to drive others away?

* * *

For an hour the next day I watched as Mello shifted about on his chair, looking rather nervous and lost in thought until the teacher left the room at last. 

"We weren't screwing, okay?! That would be so sick, I'm not a gay!"

"What were you doing then?"

The blonde hung his head down trying to cover his face, which in its entirety had taken on the hue of a maraschino cherry. He was not only embarrassed, but also quite angry. Perhaps it would have been better if I had just kept my mouth shut the night before and sacrificed a few hours of sleep. However, if I had not called him and Matt out, we would never have had _the _conversation, and without _the_ conversation things would have been far less interesting, my dearest and only confidant.

"None of your business."

"Would you care to tell me which one of you sodomized the other, then? Or did you use a different method, perhaps ora-"

"Just shut up! SHUT UP YOU STUPID SHIT ME AND MATT ARE FRIENDS! FRIENDS DON'T DO THAT TO EACH OTHER! We kissed each other, okay? It felt good, the boy knows how to use his tongue….and yeah, there was tongue. So I beat you in something, I got something you'll never get…and that's the love of another human being. He told me he loved me, so what if I don't love him back the same way? The things he did felt good, and so I guess I'll just let him do them."

I placed the final piece in the puzzle I had started just an hour ago, admiring my small and previously reached achievement. I had completed this puzzle many times; now completing it on a daily basis had become a relaxing habit of mine. I saw right away that Mello was hesitant in regards to Matt's affections. I had gotten to know Mello and the pattern of action he followed fairly well over the past two days, and I knew that the reason he was uncomfortable with Matt was because he really had no power to gain in his best friend's weakness. His best friend was number three in the Wammy House. Mello had already won through his natural talent years ago. Now, Matt probably could have taken Mello's place, but his feelings were clouding his judgment, and he knew that he would not be able to maintain a friendly relationship with the blonde if he succeeded him as a candidate for the position of L.

_'However, if that is the case, then he would be quite comfortable- no, he would thrive on my__ willing submission, I am almost certain. In which case, I could make him think he had power and then…no this is too crazy, I am Near, after all. Near doesn't need friends and certainly not at such high costs.'_

"What do you think you would have done if it had been me kissing you?" I asked, despite all my reasoning.

"What the fuck?!"

"Though I am two years younger than you, there are some things developmentally that I must say I have regretfully beat you at," I said, looking down to emphasize a joke that was entirely unfunny to both of us, "Have you not ever considered, Mello, that I am both curious and maddeningly jealous of what exactly Matt received from you?" Utter lie. Well, at the time it was an utter lie.

I did not actually expect him to take me seriously; I expected to receive his anger. Instead I was given the kind of smile that only Mello could give, one that both attracted and repelled. Wide eyes and charisma, that is what his smile is made of. He sighed before answering.

"So, now you're trying to think like me…you want to play with emotions, using your frail little body? Do you want me to look in those glassy eyes of yours as you try to fake goddamned sincerity? This is one fucked up situation we're in, but just for your sake," he rose to his feet, lifted me up by the arms, and pushed me against the wall, making sure that the wall in question was not the one that divided my room from his own, "I'll show you what it feels like. Don't expect me to kiss you though, you don't deserve that."

He positioned his right leg so that it fell between my own, keeping his hands free to touch my suspended form. But in the touch of his warm soft palms as they went from my reddening cheeks, to the lower buttons of my thin white cotton shirt, to my bare stomach, to the slight crease where my ribs met on my chest, I felt only hatred. In his eyes, which remained fixed, always fixed on my own, I felt only hatred. In his slight, angry, and hypnotic smile, I felt only hatred. The whole thing was sick, and I had to say something before it went any farther, or even worse, was interrupted by a teacher telling us that our time was up.

"Mmph, Mello, stop it. I don't want this. This isn't right," he looked angry as he drew away from me, but then again, anger was starting to look like Mello's default emotion.

"You're a fucking creep, Near. I finally found something that you can never have and now you're acting like a whiny little bitch about it. Go and be L's pissing successor, no matter what you do you will never have anyone who loves you. And, without the direct love of another, you're as worthless as you are emotionless!"

_"Do you hear me, Nate?"_ Oh yes, I hear the echo of my mother's words from so many years ago all too clearly.

_"I will not love you, because now you have become something not worth loving. You have become a bastard."_

* * *

I am beginning to wonder, why do I seem to make Near suffer so much? I am beginning to hate myself for making Near suffer so much, as a matter of fact. Don't worry, this story now has an official gasp direction. Yes, a somewhat...interesting -yeah let's call it that- ideacame to me while I was sitting on the toilet. I don't know of some people will necessarily like the direction that this story is about to go in, I really would appreciate your feedback coughreviewscough on how you feel about the story's direction thus far. As for you lurkers who feel bad about leaving negative or critical signed reviews, worrying that I'll become the writer from hell who will swoop down on you and every piece of writing you've ever produced and assimilate the ten plagues of Egypt as closely as possible, don't worry, I would in fact greatly appreciate such feedback as I only have me, myself, and I to edit this work in it's current state. Which brings me to the thanks for the overwhelmingly positive reviews I've received thus far. You guys really keep me going and in fighting spirit, I don't think this would be even half as long as it is now if it weren't for you guys and I just want to acknowledge how much your feedback has made a difference to me! 

That's you, Jeh-may (My only reviewer thus far for my first attempt at romance in writing ever, I'm glad that you liked it!,) Saiseki (It really makes me happy to hear that you are enjoying this enough to look forward to upcoming chapters when I was worried that many were growing bored, thank the heavens,) Fiery Silence (I make MYSELF want to cry with what I'm doing to Near, but sometimes I feel like it's not even me writing any more, and it's just my damned fingers typing what I can't get out of my head,) the anonymous Mello/Near Fanatic (great is such a wonderful word that means so much to me, no joke, and every time I read it I just seem to hear a form of sick obsessed happiness in word form,) kasai tenshi (thank you for also for suggesting longer chapters,) tenamanda1988 (I'm sorry I'm so mean to Near, REALLY!,) the anonymous Chelle (characterization is one of the things that I worked hardest to get right in this story, I'm really flattered that it actually came out for you,) the anonymous ammonia (when I remember reading your review for the first time clearly, it brought the worlds biggest grin to my face and I said to myself _'yeah, I'm gonna keep writing...forever, even if nobody ever reads it_,') -w-e-i-r-d-b (I really happy that someone enjoyed this enough to actually WANT to know what happens next, that makes my day,) MyPieTastesLikePie (Why, oh why does your pen name always make me giggle?,) Lanelly (I agree, Mello is quite the sick one...but, he seems less sick as of late for some reason...or is it just me?,) ChrisCrossing (Your reviews made me jump up from my chair, lift my arms up over my head, and laugh like the obsessive dork I am, thank you, thank you, a million times thank you,) the anonymous AishaHawking (what can I say but that your review brought me hope that maybe I might just have something in this brain that I could put to use and my love of writing beyond everything else in my life could really mean something to people other than myself? thank you.)

And, because it is now early morning and I have tried my best to thank you for the unbelievable amount of inspiration and drive you've given me (though my thanks could never be enough) I am going to call it a night. ;)


	10. Inductive Logic

Me, Mello, Near; what a class Inductive Logic is. Look, Roger can be cool sometimes. Sometimes we'll talk about interesting things; right and wrong is something I'm particularly good at compared to the other two who can't see more than black and white. Today we were talking about why a square was blue: commence the snoring.

"Look, Roger, there's things that just aren't worth questioning. The square is blue because it's _blue_. I know it's blue, you know it's blue. We all know it's blue," Mello was getting frustrated.

"Maybe blue is just a concept of imagination that we all happen to share. People see the world the way they want to imagine it, and if enough people tell them that's the way it is, then they get scared to say otherwise. Honestly, the square really looks like a very deep shade of purple to me... but the point of this exercise is not to prove that the square is blue, or deep purple, or any color for that matter. The real point of the exercise is to prove how subjectivity plays into every aspect of our life. It doesn't come down to right or wrong at all, only who can make someone scared enough to win."

I wonder if Roger ever bought any Playboy magazines...this would be a lot more interesting if it was prove Pam's tits are really DD's. Though I doubt it would be any different to Near, he seemed pretty enchanted with the blue square based on his long winded monologue, and I don't think that kid could even fake a libido if he tried. Now if Mello grew some tits...

"Make someone scared enough to win? It looks to me that you were just trying to distract us from the real point of the matter here. Sure, what you said is sort of interesting, but the fact is that the square is blue no matter if Muhammad suddenly swoops down and tells us that Allah says the square is magenta and will smite anyone who says otherwise. I mean, if it were something more subjective, like saying that it's a really nice day out, then that would make sense. Why do you think Americans were so obsessed with crap like Shirley Temple back in the thirties? It's because they wanted to think, 'Hey, if some kid is dressed up in cute outfits and dancing around, life isn't so bad.' But unless someone's color blind, or thinks that the square is a hue essentially identical to blue, then the square _is_ universally accepted as blue and there's no point arguing," Mello looked like he was basically going to pass out from talking so fast.

"I disagree, but respect your opinion nonetheless, Mello."

Wow. What a polite little fag.

Roger was about to say something, probably to stop Mello from going bitch on everyone, but the bell rang before he could get anything out. End of school, thank god. I just want to get back to playing my fucking game of Pokemon.

Author's Explanation: I don't know how to explain my life as it's been the past year, that's basically how long it's been since my last update. Well, to be honest, I suffer from very serious depression, and began having terrible hallucinations. My family is very academically oriented; everything is for science as far as my parents are concerned, and they saw my illness as an opportunity. Away I went to a research facility in South Dakota, essentially isolated from civilization, prevented from taking medication. For lack of better explanation, I guess you could say I went batshit, but in the end, they actually figured out some really interesting stuff from me and a couple other "adolescents" who were tested with similar conditions. I have to say, I'm looking forward to seeing what they publish about the study, and how on earth they can make it sound like something good instead of pure human torture. Sorry if this was a little dull, this will probably be the first and last time I write from Matt's perspective. But hey, I really do have this whole story figured out, and I really hope you like the direction it takes. Last year was what I like to call the dawdling chapters.


	11. Comforts

My heart beat faster when I went into Mello's room for the appointment and he wasn't there.

"Mello's trying to ask out some girl, man," Matt was thoroughly enthralled with a LED screen. He resents me more than anyone else, a twelve year old who has completely enthralled his best friend more than he ever could, and the best friend line was blurring.

"Can't you come back later or something?"

He knew a teacher was coming soon, that his roommate and I were meant to meet here at this time. I was speechless: it was a challenge of sorts. Matt was much taller than me, and clearly much stronger. Violence and resistance has never been in my nature in any way. I remember my father calling me his overgrown pussy willow when boys used to push me over as a child. But I try not to think about those days too much. My head starts to hurt.

"I can't. In fact, I must ask you to leave. I have an important scheduled meeting with Mello," maybe I was growing some balls.

He sighed, "yeah, whatever."

My heart fluttered and my stomach lurched. I suppose I wasn't growing any balls after all. _(Pussy willow.)_ I was scared about him saying something to Mello about me, but I couldn't show it. I'm Near, not Nate Rivers any more, maybe not really Nate Rivers ever. I really do wish I could hate Mello, even if I just hated him for hating me, but that's never been in my nature either, hatred isn't beneficial, and therefore not rational.

Matt had lost his patience to the point that he didn't even want to bother to explain to me that my room was next door, that I'd hear when Mello got back. I wasn't worth the effort, because to him and everyone else in this place, I was a shit.

The door creaked open. Mello.

"Please don't tell me that you're still playing that god damn game."

"Yeah man, Suckmeoff just hit level seventy-seven," still not looking away from the screen. Perverse name, whatever it was for.

"Uh, Jesus Christ, Matt. Get the fuck out."

"Yeah, yeah, now try not to make two much noise you two. Roger's right down the hall, hahaaa," his pupils were dilated, finally the observation kicked in that the room smelt quite unusual even with all the windows open. Why were all the windows open? How to explain an aroma only comparable with dirt and piss to a teacher escaped me. Then again, I hadn't noticed it at first, but I was nobody to go by. I didn't pay much attention to senses other than sight and hearing unless it directly obstructed my ability to excel in daily life.

"You didn't see anything with Matt. I will have you on your bony ass."

"Clearly."

About earlier on, I lied. I think hate and violence is all that I really have left in me.


	12. Rainfall

I guess I'm a public person when it comes to being under an anonymous name, ha. My parents found out that me and my boyfriend are ... My life has gone so downhill since then. I figured out that I don't want to be with him much longer because he can't comprehend my misery, and I'm a one in a million person who has no assertive skills whatsoever. I didn't want to have sex with him, I did it because I loved him and I thought that that might make up for what a horrible, worthless girlfriend I am. I try so hard, I didn't ever realize that every relationship I've ever been in has never given me any benefits, only sacrifices, whether it be friends or family. My boyfriend took the most out of me, but what can I expect from a sixteen year old boy? That's how old I am. Sixteen. I think I'm too young to completely lose myself like this.

* * *

I want to pin him down again for finding Matt like that. Matt. What's happening to him? Maybe his release is fucking himself over, or maybe he wants me to save him from drowning. He needs to find a girlfriend, instead of sitting around thrashing to Limp Bizkit, dying his fucking hair virtually the same color with kool-aid, and "smoking the marijuana." All it took him was a week.

One week to find a dealer. One week to find naming Pokemon ridiculous names and going on wifi with a bunch of seven year olds the funniest shit ever. One week to change into someone I don't know.

"_It's only over if you want it to be,"_ he told me. I want it over, and he doesn't. This is what he does. People think I'm crazy, fucked in the head, but I'm brilliant except when it comes to my douche friend. Guess he's not as laid back as he wanted everyone to think. Fuck that, though, I have to sleep next to him now and worry if he's going to buttsex me during my sleep. Wonder what kind of dream _that _would give me? Alien probes, or Matt the emo raping me up the ass? And if I want it to be over, I lose my best friend? Bullshit.

"I'm tired today," Near hopped on my bed. Pulled up the covers. Oh, well great. That's just fantastic. This is so pathetic…I want to talk to someone. I need someone. Fuck. Not him, not him, anyone but him…

'_Who is there when you've lost everyone?'_

"What do you think of Matt right now?"

"Obviously troubled, but that's not my problem."

"Any idea over what?"

"Yeah. You."

It was starting to rain, the room darkened as the clouds began to veil us, and the room closed in on us too. That's how I lost it, space, time, myself. We were there, both of us. Unreachable.

"I'm tired too. So tired, Near, of everything."

* * *


	13. Flowers

"Don't be tired. I forgive you for all that we've been taught to center on," that's what I said. Is that really how I felt? Well, it's how it's supposed to be, forever here in this unpainted room, gasping for oxygen if the window ever gets stuck. I'd be resigned to die here if it meant that everything would stop. Time and space and energy and light would stop just for us. Give me the long rest I need without making me into a coward like my father.

"You think my life revolves around you? That I'll be doing happy monkey dances the minute you "forgive" me? Well, I don't forgive you. Not ever," Mello's voice came muffled from the floor he was now sprawled across face first. He had such a small nose, like a button mushroom. I finally began to realize his many harmless features as I lay in his bed, trying to sleep as it rained outside. I hadn't seen the clouds gather.

His smell was left behind, mild as a flower, in the sheets that I had buried myself in. It was a lovely smell that began to make me wonder, were there beautiful parts of Mello that I would never know? Did he want to be an astronaut before his parents died? Maybe he wanted to be a veterinarian. It would be so beautiful to get to save animals for a living; I sometimes used to wish I wasn't allergic to dogs when I was young. When I had a life.

"_So your name is Near?"_

"_No, but that's what it is from now on." _

"_The minute that you come here, you never had another name, that's what the teachers told us. It helps a lot if you don't remember your parents: it just makes you sad. I don't know if you'll understand a lot of what I say for a while, since you're so little, but if you ever need some help, you know where to find the future L, that's me, Mello."_

"…_Okay. Thank you." _

Things didn't turn out the way that Mello thought it would. It wasn't long before the kindness became forced as I moved closer and closer to his lofty position in the Whammy House. It was never for himself: it was for Roger, for proof of what hard work really meant, for his parents who lay sleeping in their graves. Perhaps that's why he became so fierce when I finally took it away from him. To him, it must've seemed like I not only had nothing to fight for, but that I wasn't fighting at all. I knew things nobody could know at my age.

Would he have been different if he knew what I know about the nature of knowing too much? I'm jealous that he can care, spit, fight and scream for such small and insignificant honors. He's right; I'll never have to fight at all, and everything was all for myself. I never deserved to take something away from him that meant so much. But I have a secret, something that was never fair for him or me.

"You should know something," I stumbled on the words. I guess I was scared about being so open, but I knew it would come out of me. These were water words, even stronger than fire.

No response, I couldn't have said I was surprised. But I continued on, because I had already begun. I was about to tell him everything that I knew I shouldn't. Thank god that I held myself. I knew no good would come out of it any ways. People aren't always what they seem…or smell like, in Mello's case. And that made me realize how I would catch myself.

"You smell like the most beautiful thing in the world, and I'm sorry a monster like me had to be the one to tell you."

He sighed, even sounded like he felt sorry, "You're strange and queer as fuck, dude… when did it start getting so dark?"

"Just a few minutes ago I think, want me to open the window? Rain always smells nice on days like this."

"You don't have to, and there's no way in hell I'm moving my ass anywhere. Just thinking about either one of us moving makes me want to smack you, actually. I think we're supposed to lie like this for a while. To stop."

"You know something? I think that maybe you're right."

But he got up just a few minutes later. I can't place any blame him for breaking the almost-code we had made; the floor certainly isn't the most comfortable place that somebody could rest. I realized what this meant, though, with vexation. It was time for me to leave, but I wanted to stay there. I needed to stay there until I became so immersed in the smell that it became a part of me and I couldn't smell it any longer. You know what that boy, the most arrogant, selfish, and cruel boy that I've ever met smelled like? He smelled exactly like love.

--

I really don't know if I'm doing these characters justice. The two have such a negative relationship with each other in canon, and I worry I'm rushing things far too quickly. I also want to uphold the promise I made to myself of portraying life as a young teenager as accurately as possible with characters as atypical to the norm as it gets. As of right now, this story's all just one giant melodrama after another! I hope to add at least a few small moments of simple happiness to the character's lives in this story in upcoming chapters.


	14. Markers

**_Years had gone by since then, since that month, and I knew the fucker wouldn't grace me with his mighty presence willingly. But I needed that picture. That god. Damn. Picture. And hey, reunions are always a joy. I found him. He was doing well for himself. Well, besides the whole putting his life on the line thing._**

**_"So, how long do you think we have to live, Near? Which one of us is gonna die first?" I muttered the words quietly but taking care to distinguish the syllables, drawing each word out to make sure he could hear me as I drew closer to his hunched, anonymous, backside._**

**_"You, obviously," he responded without a second thought. Ha, well, that's one thing I liked about that shitbag, he didn't bother with the preservation of anyone's feelings, especially mine, "because I'm not going to die; you know I'm going to win. Do you not remember what I told you? Do you not remember what you saw?"_**

**_I don't know why the fuck I thought I could startle him. Am I really still losing? And did he really need to remind me? He's still fucking retarded I guess, and oh look, I guess he's still playing with puppets. Gee, I thought he'd move on to dildos or something by now. (Maybe he keeps them out of sight, but who am I kidding?) After all, he's an even bigger fag than I am. But who gives a shit? There's really only one reason I came here._**

**_"I came here to get that picture. Hand it over, bitch."_**

**_"….ah well, looks like I'll have to give away one of my precious treasures. You know, between you and me, looking at that hair of yours still makes me—" Ugh, scratch out that part about liking any aspect of his ridiculous persona whatsoever._**

**_"Don't finish that fucking sentence. Just hand it over." And that's when he turned towards me and I finally saw what that month had taught me. He had everyone fooled but me. I saw it right away…he wasn't doing so well for himself after all._**

**_And it flooded back to me like a downpour as he handed me that glossy faded photograph. As I turned to leave. As I saw the fear and exhaustion in his eyes that nobody else could see. Oh Near, you've fooled them so well, but did you really think you could fool the man who knows you the best? I left that blue, monitor-lit room, a fortress of cold machinery, drowning in the songs he sung of his past, present and future. Gasping for air as he pulled me down deeper. Deeper. He wasn't fucking scared of death at all. Of all things that little shit was scared because he couldn't die._**

When I came into his small room I was surprised to find a cup of pathetic, crushed flowers shooting out of a pathetic, crushed tin can. Well looky here, did he spruce up his little hidey-hole just for me? Change out of that fucking ridiculous set of pajamas and pop out a bottle of pink champagne and we just might have a ticket to romance here, Near. Not.

"You're welcome to sit wherever you please Mello, but I must ask that you don't disturb me at this point in time. I'm conducting some very important research. Our usual mediator has fallen ill, so our time together will be halved. However, I've made a request that the staff place surveillance cameras in both yours and my rooms to be turned on during our time together. I'd prefer to avoid violent incidences, as I am willingly volunteering for the sake of remedying your frequent…absence of emotional control. You'll be happy to hear, however, that the room has not been bugged. You're free to offer as much verbal abuse as you wish."

"Well, enjoy your fucking research. In the meantime, I'll be looking for that camera so I can get to punching a hole in your dick. With a shoelace. Maybe you should take a trip to the can while you still have the ability to piss in a normal fashion."

"It's impossible to pierce such tissue with even the end of an exceptionally thin shoelace, my dear friend. Oh sure, you'd be able to cause me a great deal of pain, but I'm sorry to tell you that I'd suffer no permanent damage to my genitalia. If anything was to suffer, it would be any form of pride you have in your manhood. I say this from a purely objective and disinterested standpoint, but I'll have you know I'm what many would consider 'well-endowed.'"

Did he really just say that? Oh for the love of god, look at him enjoying himself over there, all smiles. And this isn't the first time he's made a hint at the size of his dick either. Nice try with the whole male pride thing, because you obviously have a good deal of it, Mr. Disinterested. Now, to find that camera…

"Say bye-bye to that shit, Near. You insult me thinking I'm stupid enough to not find such a pathetic piece of trash."

"I knew you'd find it, after all, that was key to my research. I'm observing you, Mello, and to be honest, I don't really care if you hit me, maybe you should think of it as compensation for being my lab rat, so go ahead. You won't be gaining anything out of it. Maybe it's not real compensation after all."

I should have known. To be honest, I knew all along that he was just doing the whole thing for shits and giggles, but he did it again. He beat me by exposing my emotional weakness and anger, and I let him, purely because I _was_ angry. I _was_ insulted. I needed to take back my control of the situation, because today, in less than ten minutes, he'd managed to take it all away from me.

And then I remembered him drawing on that thick, pale printer paper that so closely resembled the shade of his smooth skin. Red marker. There's a red marker in his drawer, and I'm gonna have a little fun. I knew he'd do whatever I asked, or go without resistance when I used force. That kid was a freak of nature, beyond apathetic: he was dead.

"Little shit, get over here. I want you to sit on your bed. You said you'd give me compensation, right?" I managed to pull off poisoning my already aggressive manner of speech (and yes, I know it's fucking aggressive because I _practiced_) quite nicely.

There was a pause, and he actually looked rather pensive for a change, before he let off a deep sigh. How odd…seeing him look like anything other than a reanimated corpse.

"Very well."

And I saw him walk slowly, deliberately (_fucking creep_,) to the designated location. I was actually getting pretty damn excited for what I had in store, so I turned to go invade his limited personal belongings, only listening to the creak of his cheapass bed. Rummaging through his shit was actually pretty fun; it was all so fucking _pathetic_. And then I found it.

I sat next to him, weapon in hand. This was just too great.

"Hold still," and he did what I commanded. I opened the cap with a satisfying click, and smiled before pulling him down. He didn't even look remotely fazed, but what did I expect?

I put the marker to his lips, and god, it was so red it looked like fresh blood. Or maybe a particularly juicy apple just waiting to be bitten, chewed, swallowed. I wasn't lipstick, but it was the best I could do. What the fuck? Was he…blushing?

"Wanna see?" Not that he had much of a choice as I grabbed harshly by his left wrist, pulling him to the nearest restroom. And this was just the beginning of my effort at absolute humiliation. Even if I knew it was impossible, I was allowed to imagine, right?

"Oh wow. I look lovely."

Haha, oh yes you do. That one was actually pretty good coming from a fucking faggot. And I dragged him off again, back to his little cell next to mine. Before I entered that room, closing the door behind me, I saw the door to mine was open. And I saw a quick glimpse of Matt, staring right at me, burning a hole through me with his eyes. He saw me with Near. Good. I'm getting pretty sick of having to live in the same room as that jilted bastard.

"Our time is almost up, according to my clock. Three minutes, Mello. Anything else you'd like to do? Though I must say that by your standards I've more than compensated. You're lucky I'm such a nice guy."

Man, he was just on a fucking roll today, wasn't he? _Ba-dump shhh_.

"Yeah, one more thing…and just enough time. It's your lucky day, faggot. Lean up and kiss me. And I expect you to act like you want me. Chop chop."

"Okay. Let's sit down then. Though I thought you just told me the other day something about me not 'deserving' a kiss?" He actually looked surprised…this was even fucking weirder than that pensive look he donned earlier.

"That was then, this is now." He responded with another sigh before dropping to the ground in his usual, eccentric postion.

"Once again, very well."

And he actually did it. He grabbed me by my shirt and pulled my lips to his. _Hmm, soft._ And then, it was over. He shuffled away on his skinny, anemic ass within seconds. Just a peck, really, more than anything else.

"I always knew you wanted to steal my first kiss. I'm flattered, but our time is up. Oh, and please leave that camera behind. I know you put it in your ear, Mello, and I know it still works, seeing as how it was never connected to surveillance to begin with. But you knew that too, didn't you? That's all. Have a lovely afternoon."

_God damn him._

* * *

I know I'm pretty unreliable as far as updates go, huh? As in...unreliable in terms of years. I've just been writing a lot of my own personal work, and I'm happy to say that I've managed to have a collection of short stories published. To be honest, the thing bombed, and I'm surprised Penguin didn't make me pay _them_ for taking it. Maybe you'll find the thing one day, but I'm sure there won't be any second printing. I'd rather keep my name a secret though, sorry.


	15. Transformation

An interesting development indeed, Mello. I didn't know that 'research' would bother you as much as it did…or that you'd want that kind of reward. Curious. You are the first, and probably the last person I'll ever got close to. These were my thoughts on your actions, or the thoughts I was most willing to admit to myself. You know, there have been a lot of thoughts I haven't been able to admit having lately. For instance, I'll never truly say this to you out loud, I truly don't want to push you away. I enjoy our battles, I enjoy the idea of us, and I enjoyed that kiss. I'll never, ever tell.

But I'll tell you something else today. Something I've never told anyone else, even if I know I shouldn't trust you. I _do_ trust you, and I'm so afraid of that fact. I'm so very scared; my heart is exploding in my chest, and I can't even breathe. I know there are some people that take medications even here for this sort of thing, but I won't admit that I need something like this. I'm obsessed with maintaining a certain reputation that I know has driven to me into utter solitude. Of course, I am aware of the benefits of companionship, I want it desperately as a matter of fact. But if I want to truly be someone who can fill the shoes of L, I can't let the opinions of others allow me to be swayed.

I'm going to humor myself on this one though, a little indulgence after all these years is well deserved. It's only human. Truth be told, I don't think you hate me anymore, Mello. You're just as guilty when it comes to denying your true thoughts and feelings. Maybe we have more in common than you'll ever know.

And now we're alone. I can finally tell you, and I know you'll listen.

"Do you remember seeing a little black box when you were looking through my drawers the other day?"

"No, not really. I was too busy looking at your collection of beyblades and Lion King boxers. Do you have even more fucking oddities that you want to share with me?"

I was actually surprised he didn't say anything about that kiss. I thought that he'd talk before I did once the teacher left. Or maybe it's because he didn't expect me to actually do it… Hmmm, now that I try and think of it from his perspective, the fact that I kissed him is actually more incriminating for him than me. After all, I was fulfilling _his_ request.

"Something like that. A bit of a show and tell, maybe. Why don't I get it out?" I have no idea how I'm managing to do this so calmly. I've been living with this for so many years too scared to say anything.

Despite its small size, it wasn't hard for me to find. I looked at it so often, brushed my hand against it so many times. Finally, I was showing it to someone else. And it was the person who claimed to hate me the most. I sat down next to him on my bed, even though I knew such an action would make him uncomfortable when he didn't have control of it, and opened it quickly, before he could protest.

Inside that box was something that nobody would think I held in my possession. It was a tiny wooden cross, carefully carved to depict Christ himself in his final hours, hanging from a silver chain. It was constructed, and presented to me, by my father.

"…that's what you wanted to show me? Are you trying to make me feel bad about what I did to you yesterday? Because you know I don't buy it. You're full of it," he told me blatantly, but I heard the slight discomfort in his voice. He was about to get a whole lot less comfortable.

And I felt it coming on, faster than it had ever before. I had barely enough time to reach for the bowl carefully placed underneath my bed before my stomach gave way and threw up every ounce of its contents. Funny, the first time I really interacted with Mello involved vomit as well.

"Oh god, what the fuck? I don't care if you're fucking pissed about yesterday, this is just ridiculous. I mean, it's not like I _physically_ forced you to do anything, fucking creepyass motherfucker," I guess he wasn't as dignified and controlled with such a situation as I was. Did he forget the fact that this whole thing started because he threw up all over _me_?

But he had a lot more things to worry about than vomit as I began to observe my skin begin to crack and deepen to the color of ash. I just began to get a glimpse of it falling off and snowing onto my sheets, like powder, before my vision allowed me to perceive the shades of the world that I had previously been unable to see. And then I felt it flowing into me, that inescapable darkness of absolute, unshakable omniscience and power. And my heart was filled with malice, malice that only someone like me could even begin to control. This is what I was made for, after all, no matter how I fought it. Alright, well I clearly showed the dumbfounded boy, who I've now probably scarred with permanent trauma. I guess I'd better tell.

"Mello, or Mihael Keehl, should I say? I am destruction itself. I am what you would call, the devil."


	16. Cheat

I couldn't even scream, but I felt every muscle in my body contract. Good thing that bastard, oh god, _literally_ that bastard, had that bowl in handy. Now both of us made a combined effort to put that cheap piece of shit tupperware through more abuse than it probably deserved in one day. I think that it goes without saying that this about sums up the success and nature of a Mello and Near 'collaborate effort.' But forget that…this wasn't even Near. And just when I thought he couldn't get any more fucked.

"But you know, labeling me as the devil would be the least complicated solution. Would you believe that this is actually the result of my father's absolute devotion to the church? Oh, and if I choose to allow myself free movement for much longer, I'll probably kill you…you're lucky I'm such a nice guy."

I watched him move his ragged body, skin peeling like old lead paint, with an alien grace as he reached underneath his bed once again. When I saw the small bag he pulled out, filled with white powder, I thought it must have been for the ridiculous pain the kid was in. And when he opened it, I found myself utterly appalled and terrified again…a terror stemming from that tiny shard of empathy that somehow managed to cling onto my soul. Salt. It was fucking salt.

He turned the bag upside down over his legs, pouring the coarse grains all over what must've been fucking unbearable wounds. I finally turned and screamed into the boy's pillow when I saw him take his sheets and run them up and down against his legs, like a woman rubbing soiled clothing against a washing board on laundry day. Near didn't scream at all, only shedding a few stoic tears in silence before losing all obvious consciousness. How fucked up was it that this must've become a fact of life for him?

I truly, deeply, and wholeheartedly wanted to protect the disgusting monster that lay next to me. For just that moment, I hated myself for thinking that I was the only one getting screwed. It wasn't until years later that I realized how much fucking trauma that god damn jackass caused me because he couldn't just shut up and keep to himself. That's what I would've done.

I didn't even realize that I'd fallen asleep until I woke up next to an already recovered Near. The only signs that anything had ever even happened were found in the blood underneath his fingernails, the blood on his sheets, and human debris clinging to the white fabric of his shirt. Everything would've made a lot more sense if it were a dream…

"Sorry about knocking you out, but you have to understand that it was necessary. I couldn't have you leave to inform others as to what was going on. It'll take you a little time until you get your movement back up to speed, so I hope you're comfortable…but I suppose I could move your body for you if you'd like. I need to change out of these clothes," he told me, making a gesture at the murdered fabric, "and I'll offer an explanation when that's taken care of."

And shit, he wasn't kidding. It was an experience similar to taking one too many Oxycontin: I couldn't even feel my body, let alone move it. I figured at least I'd get to see what Near seemed to be so damn proud of for a few giggles, but he was already one step ahead of me.

"But, I'm a strong believer in modesty, Mello," he smirked as he placed a pair of his hideous boxers over my eyes, "and I also don't appreciate your commentary on my undergarments, pervert."

Oh did I have a few things to say to him…but it looked like the muscles in my jaw were just as helpless as those in the rest of my body. Instead I got to sit slack-jawed, admiring a picture of Nala pinning Simba into the dirt. Well, at least it helped me figure out just how to make sure Near got his for this.

He pulled the makeshift blindfold off my head before pausing to speak. And then I saw it again…things I hadn't seen before. Just slight tics of the lips and muscles underneath his eyes. He'd made me so pissed that I wasn't even half as scared as I should've been, but he seemed to be carrying all the fear I should've had for me.

"My parents aren't dead. They're alive.

"This is why I'm here, though nobody knows that's the reason why. My mother threatened to kill me if I didn't leave the house, and she almost did it…once. She almost killed me, and I don't think I would've lived if it hadn't been for that piece of wood lying between us.

"So, I left my home in America when I was just five years old. Living in Missouri, I saw so much just walking along those highways through the grain and pale field grass to Kansas City; I never even thought enough to realize that it was a shame to never see it again. It was a hot summer, and the air was still and dry. I even saw a fire start off in the distance once. It was just as the sun set, engulfing the entire sky in a perfect, unrivalled red.

"If it were a different situation than it turned out to be, I guess I would've called it beautiful. But my feet hurt; it was hard for a child to steal food, even from highly trafficked rest stop convenience marts, and even with the kind of parents I had, it was hard for me to spend the night alone, vulnerable underneath the dark sky. It became something else, and it became the first time I took out that wooden cross for my own benefit.

"And when I did, I didn't have to sleep or eat. I could run for miles and miles without stopping, because I was filled with the power of god. I didn't know what exactly it was for, or what the greater purpose was, but I knew that it was meant for me. I reached Kansas City in about a quarter of the time it would have taken me otherwise. Finally, I closed my eyes to sleep on the outskirts of that small, friendly metropolis.

"When I came to, all the fears of a small, abandoned five year old boy cast aside in that heightened state, returned. I realized I had no further destination. That is, until I looked down at the ground below me, noticing the dirt underneath my left index finger.

"'Wammys House, Winchester, England. Go to 39th, Lawliette's. You are Rin Everat. '

"I entered the city, following my own directions without apprehension. As you probably know, it doesn't take much effort for someone with our level of intelligence to reach a destination with a quick visit to a public library, even at such a young age. I found Lawliette's quickly and with ease.

"I knocked on its door, greeted by a professional young man in a pinstripe suit, and told him that I didn't have a family. I gave him my 'name.' I asked him about Wammys House. I charmed him wholly, and before I knew it, I was on a plane to England. That's how I came here, just a small part of how I was conceived.

"You should be able to move now. I'll consider whether or not to finish this story until we meet next. I believe I told you what you're most interested in, however. You're too smart to not have seen the benefits of my nature, and what you're assuming is correct." he hung his head, leaving me to irately anticipate his next words.

"I may be intelligent, but I am not a truly worthy successor to L on my own. I'm a cheat."

Like instinct, I picked my still heavy body off of the bed, grasped the unresisting boy next to me underneath the arms, and threw him to the ground below with a resounding thud. And, screaming, I lifted my foot back and swiftly forward into Near's fat, worthless mouth.

I turned to run with all the strength I had, still unable to hide my tears.

* * *

I came up with this whole thing years ago on the toilet. I know that it's not going to make everybody happy, but I'm writing this more for myself than anyone else. Nonetheless…I hope you do enjoy it! Also, I wanna say congrats to Kasai_Tenshi, I'm glad you got a chance to get something you obviously put a lot of time and effort to accepted as well! Thanks for sticking through this story with me and always offering good constructive criticism, it really means a lot! And Kavyle, the last thing you need to say sorry for is for not writing a review. A review to me is an honor, not something I see myself as deserving, so thank you for it! I hope I can offer a little more explanation as to what's going on in the next few chapters, because I know this is incredibly out of left field.


	17. Savior

I'm going to keep my notes on my profile from now on. If you want to read them, go there, if you don't, then good news! They'll be taking up space no longer.

* * *

We sat the next day after our proctor left in deafening silence. Yes, even that worthless woman noticed something was wrong: she told us that we appeared to have taken a step backwards, questioning us as to whether or not this method of introducing mutual respect for one another was still effective. And before I could even speak, he had already snapped back for me that indeed, the plan was working. Of course, the tone of his voice also announced the direction of the door, 'file out, please.'

I never thought I'd mourn that feeble-minded mouth breather's departure, but Mello's behavior effectively proved me wrong. No longer able to resist, I looked up at the boy sitting on my bed to observe his emotional condition (he wears his heart on his sleeve, but reading this, you could probably have figured that out by now. It's something I admire deeply, for all my objections against it.) Oh dear, he was not very happy. My heart, already speeding like a hummingbird's, increased to threaten explosion. Almost rivaling its speed during our short and nervous kiss.

He'd been looking at me the whole time, looking at me like I was a particularly freakish creature at a zoo. _I suppose it fits, I would certainly make for an interesting source of entertainment for those licentious individuals who seem to find enjoyment in further breaking the souls of the damned. _

Mello's eyes were drilling into my face. That frightening icy blue intensity set my skin on fire, escaping my control. I looked away, admitting defeat, only to look up once more only moments later. The sky was darkening, and my legs were still left frail from the events of the previous day. As long as neither of us made the effort, there would be no light, and we'd soon lose sight of each other. Winter was still in full swing, and the days seemed only to be getting shorter and shorter.

"Well, I've decided. I want to hear all of it. And I mean all of it, up until yesterday. Spit it out, kiddo."

"Kiddo? I'm only a year younger than you," I said against my better judgment. What is it about this young man that makes me throw judgment to the dogs?

"But I see you're not exactly in the mood for objections of any sort, and I don't blame you. If it makes you feel a little better, I don't use that thing often, it meets my eyes on maybe a bi-annual basis. And even if I never used it, I'd stake Matt as having the best chance as L's successor. Well, before you left him emotionally comp--"

"You know, I really could kill you," he glared at me, steam practically coming out of his ears as he grabbed fiercely for the pillow next to him.

"I could take this pillow, take you by your little neck, push you to the ground, and suffocate you. It would be so easy. No one would hear you, and when they found your body, it'd be too late. I'd be out of this place faster than a snot rocket. So, for your well being, I really suggest you don't mention my roommate again."

Not 'best friend' anymore, now?

"…my mother got very sick after I was born. Postpartum depression that remained with her as long as I knew her. My father, seeing her like that, it made him sick too. He was a librarian, and apparently a highly cultured man until he found his way to the alter of that damned church, if it could even be called that. That's when he quit his job, leaving us nearly penniless: living on food stamps and welfare. He used to be tall and handsome, but that quality of life will wear anyone down, even without a disturbed wife sucking down every last penny in medical bills and a young child to care for. His devotion to god became more and more rabid and obsessive, until finally he began to look at me with new eyes. I was only three and a half when he turned my life upside down.

"One Sunday night when the father was tidying the pews, the man felt an intense heat at his back, or so he said. When he turned around to see where it was coming from, he saw the cross hanging at the front of the building spilling a strange powder that smelled faintly of rotted apples. Of course, being a man of faith, he took it as a sign from God, and gathered it immediately into the nearby alms dish. He called his wife, telling her that he would not be home for a while, and began perusing the testaments. There was nothing there about such powder or its properties, and before long he drifted to sleep, lying himself against his desk.

"That's when God supposedly came to him and revealed the truth. The powder that he had found was the essence of Jesus Christ, and that the father was to play a key in his gradual resurrection upon the arrival of the antichrist. He had to find a young child to act as a vessel, one who was innocent, but who also knew tribulation, just as Christ had known. Knowing that he had a young boy, he approached my father. I fit the bill, so to speak.

"I don't remember the transfusion at all. In fact, I sometimes wonder if I was awake for any of it, or if they drugged me. I only remember it as the time my very strange dreams began. They are never truly prophetic, but frequently carry symbols of what might come to pass. If you take a look at my personal desktop in the library, you'll notice my Internet homepage is a site dedicated to analyzing the subconscious meaning of one's dreams.

"My mother hated me more and more as time went by, watching the ebony hair I had received from my father fade to milky white. The rate of my growth slowed dramatically, and my height, once a source of pride, was no longer impressive. She yelled, screamed at me whenever she saw me. She claimed that I wasn't her son, and accused my father of siring an illegitimate child.

It's a wonder he didn't have the sense to institutionalize her. After all, how could I understand that the words she whispered to me in her dark moods weren't true? How could a man watch his son go through such torment, claiming himself Christian? I'm certain that even with this curse, my quality of life would have been better if he had had the strength to make that terrible decision.

"He tried to make up for his lack of courage; without prompt, he'd bring me marbles, wind up cars, and little green plastic army men in a cheap attempt to thwart the guilt he must have felt. I took comfort in those trinkets," I paused to gesture towards the sea of plastic surrounding my listener and me, "just as I take comfort in the trinkets you see before you now.

"From a rational standpoint, I hate these cheap playthings, but the emotional association of contentment I get when holding or fidgeting with one of them won't go away. I hate to think what I'm going to look like ten years from now. Some sort of pathetic manchild, I'm sure. Oh yes, I am in fact moderately worried about my reputation; I have a feeling you didn't realize it. My presentation would undoubtedly improve if I weren't walking around with Gundams all the ti-"

"Don't fucking insult me."

It was an interruption I predicted earlier and should not have forgotten about in the midst of my self-absorbed babble. But for what it's worth, he did manage to catch me thoroughly off-guard. I had no response for him, a fact that he picked up on quickly.

"You think I didn't realize that you're as obsessed with keeping up appearances as I am?" He spat his words, approaching me from across the room with venom in every step. He kneeled in front of me to take hold of my collar.

"Want to know what makes me so goddamn frustrated?" he growled almost directly into my slack mouth. It was the wake-up call I needed to regain my composure.

"If telling me would make things easier for you."

I didn't even have enough time to pull a half-hearted smirk before I heard a hollow tear, felt stinging pain coming from my scalp. He now held a dismembered lock of my hair between the first three fingers of his right hand.

"And here I was thinking you'd be able to recognize a rhetorical question. What makes me so goddamn frustrated is that no matter what anybody does, you absolutely refuse to give in and get help for that thoroughly fucked head of yours. You walk around thinking you're better than everybody else, like you don't give a shit, but you're just a sniveling coward, aren't you? Here I was, honestly thinking that maybe you really did have something to you, but you're a sham, and I'd frankly be ashamed to say I borrowed a pencil from you, that's how utterly beneath me you are."

Even at the rapid pace of his speech, everything he said-it seemed to come so slowly. It hit me that maybe the two of us were even more similar, certainly more capable of understanding one another, than I thought. And maybe…

"Unlike you, I don't tolerate disappointment, and I'll go to any length to get things the way they should be. That's why we're nicking some cash and getting out of here. We're going to find these parents of yours and get you straightened out. If I've got to have a rival, he'd better be fucking decent."

For the first time in years, I found myself smiling in earnest, forgetting about the pain in my scalp, and the weight in my heart.

_Maybe I'm the one that's being saved._


	18. Shadow

Late that night, he knocked through my wall, telling me he was ready to go. I couldn't believe he actually was actually going along with it; he smiled at the idea of leaving, though neither of us knew where the fuck we were going or how we were going to get there.

At his signal, I took out my tiny bag, filled with everything I could possibly carry, and tried to exit quietly so I wouldn't wake up my roommate.

"Where are you going?" I heard a shift from across the room. He was sitting up.

"…Did I wake you up?" Shit. I should've remembered what a light sleeper Matt was, even falling asleep dead stoned.

"No. I haven't been able to sleep. I've just been lying here with my eyes closed." I sighed, relief coursing through my veins after recognizing that he wasn't going to ask me any more questions. I heard another knock through the wall.

"Take care of yourself, Mello."

Those were the last words I heard from him as I walked out the door, knowing that my best friend had maybe, just maybe, forgiven me for being a total ass, hoping I'd do the same. But I had to go: someone was waiting for me.

Near stood at the front of his door in a navy blue pea coat that I wasn't even aware he owned. His hair lay slightly more disheveled than usual, and dark circles had formed under his almond-shaped eyes. He was nervous.

I turned my attention to the small bag he carried.

"Let me take a look at that."

"Why?" He responded just a little to quickly, gripping the shapeless thing— really no more than a burlap sack—tighter in his fingers. Bingo, I guessed right.

"To get that damn box out of your bag. You're not taking it with you."

Before he even realized what was going on, I had managed to use my dexterity to my advantage. I grabbed the thing from him, opened up the cheap plastic drawstring, and began rummaging. His bag was so sparse that it took me only seconds to find what I had been looking for, pocketing it before walking into his room to put the tiny thing in its proper drawer. He stood there speechless, seeming to comprehend my actions, but remaining slightly upset nonetheless.

"I had no intention to use it."

"Oh really? Then you won't see any problem with leaving it behind, right?" I smirked at him in the dark.

"As a matter of fact, there is a serious problem with leaving it behind," he began, his voice marked with uncharacteristic irritation, "I left my home when I was six years old. Knowing even the tiniest fragment of information about my past home life, I'd expect someone with your capabilities to be able to infer that there is a strong likelihood that my mother, if not yet deceased, will deny my relationship to her."

"And how would having a cheap piece of fucking wood solve that problem?"

_Unless you're planning to use it._

"We aren't in the right circumstances to argue at this time. Try and understand my reasoning," he practically bombarded back. With the exception of the time I hung him out the window, this was the most flustered I'd ever seen Near. I would've gotten a kick out of seeing him behave like this at any other time, but unfortunately, I was too pissed to savor the moment.

"Your reasoning? Why don't you try and understand mine? I'm sorry, but coming face to face with something out of a b-grade horror film again doesn't sound like my cup of tea," I turned down the hallway, starting towards Roger's office, "let's get a few quid and get out of here."

Knowing that he couldn't win against me no matter how he tried, Near's fear of being caught got the better of him. When I looked back, I watched as he gripped at his chest for a moment, trying to calm himself down before tiptoeing quickly to meet my brisk pace. If I were a better person, I would've tried to comfort him, but I am not, and I sure as hell wasn't back then. To be honest, I was still a little angry with him about the whole thing.

The hallway of the old building was long, and I found myself stopping more than a few times to wait out a number of creaks that sounded along my path. Near, seeming to regain his confidence during the trek, continued forward, leaving me to do the catching up. I was still the first person to reach the door to the office, making a mad dash past the many photographs, faded and new alike, of previous Wammy House heads to get there ahead of Near. Before Roger, the position as the Wammy head had a high turnover, but it looked like the current holder was enjoying his position and had no intention of retiring.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that the door was unlocked. All hope soon drained, however, when I caught sight of the formidable safe in the corner of the room, something I had never really noticed before then.

The Wammy House ran under a rather peculiar, cash only system of financial management and as of then, had refused to open a banking account. It was a well-known fact among older residents that the money was kept in Roger's office, and at that moment, I knew where he had been keeping it.

"Fuck."

"I could say the same, Mello," the white haired boy, now magically recovered, remarked as he began to dig through the drawers lying underneath the many bookshelves lining the room, "but that wouldn't get me any closer to opening that safe."

"Yeah, and if you think Roger wrote the combination anywhere in this room, or for that matter anywhere period, you're even more clueless than I gave you credit for."

A slight chuckle escaped from the left side of the room.

"Who said I was looking for a combination?" I heard a slight shuffling of papers before seeing the frail boy's small form rise up from the ground, his back faintly framed in the moonlight. In his hand he grasped a thick stack of bills, lifted upwards in triumph.

"Information is far more important in the Wammy house than a couple pounds. I'm willing to bet that what's really contained in that safe is names," he turned towards me, amusement written on his face, "Is two thousand okay? Or would you like me to bring more?"

"You've made your point, Near," I clenched my fists to remain calm to his obvious mockery, "let's get out of here fast."

I grabbed him by his hand, and dragged him along down the stairs, past the drawing room, finally crossing the marble floors of the front hall to meet the ominous front doors of the orphanage. This would be my first time leaving the Wammy House without permission. It wouldn't be my last.

I let go of the boy's hand to stand before the now-open threshold, finally getting a chance to reflect on what exactly Near and I were doing. My heart sped up a little as I realized what our return to this place would entail; it was more than likely that our positions as L's successor would be reconsidered. How long would they even wait before we were replaced?

_I thought that I wanted to be L more than anything in the whole world. I wanted to be L so I could shove it in that boy's face. So why am I helping him? What does he mean to me?_

"Are you going?" He sighed, probably suffering from a similar thought pattern.

I turned to look at him one last time, and then without a word, I pushed my foot out the door into the cool air of the night waiting for me. The first steps were the hardest; after that I ran.

Like my shadow, Near followed closely behind.


	19. Child

Without second thought, he gripped the long posts of the gate with his hands to pull himself forward into the air, a loud clang of metal locks sounding at the force of his weight.

_Hmm, maybe I should get out and watch the silly games those boys play more often, his athletic prowess is quite an impressive sight to behold. In regards to rational thought, however…_

Trying my best to ignore the pain still running through my legs, I sprung ahead to grasp the brick ledge adjacent to the more demanding jump Mello had taken. I was just barely able to grasp it with the tips of my pale fingers, and I instinctively kicked my legs at the brick to bring myself upward. I could all but hear my muscles begin to tear, cracking at the strain of my body, a degree of pressure foreign to them. It was nothing I had not handled before, and I remained silent through the excruciating torment.

It wasn't until my downward descent that I submitted to the agony. I lost my balance on the flat ledge surface and fell swiftly downward.

"_A two story fall is quite an accident for a child his size, a true miracle that he survived. Are you sure that there wasn't any foul play here?" The doctor looks down at his clipboard, carefully checking down the boxes, slightly frustrated that he has to spend his son's birthday on call…but how would I know that?_

"_Quite sure, my wife was asleep when I came home, and he wasn't cold at all. He couldn't have been out for long," my father shifts his eyes sternly forward, remembering that people found you more trustworthy if you were able to hold their gaze. [It's only a tiny lie. __**It would be far worse to deprive the boy of his mother**__.]_

"_I'm sorry, I just have to ask. It comes with the job. We're going to have to keep him here at least overnight. He's broken three ribs and both of his femurs, and in all likelihood, his growth will remain stunted. He's lucky though, if he'd fallen any other way, he would've broken his spine," the doctor turns to me, quickly trying to sneak a look at his watch without anyone noticing._

"_Okay kiddo, we're going to take you to your room for tonight," he says, ruffling through my hair. I don't like it._

"_Are mommy and daddy coming?" I have more than a few things to ask my mother. From the way he freezes, I already know the answer. He really thinks that we are a happy family._

"_I'm sorry, they can't come. But I'll make sure you have a nice time, and I'll show you the button you can press if you need anything. It'll be like staying in a hotel, have you ever been in one?"[Ugh, I can never talk to kids…look at how my son's turning out.]_

_I spend the remainder of my surreal stretcher ride wondering if I should tell him not to worry about his son, because he understands and just having him go to that baseball game where he got the home run was enough. I decide that it's in my best interest not to, and say nothing at all. I fall asleep shortly after._

_When I wake up, I'm in a funny room with white walls. Where are mommy and daddy? I'm scared._

My body brushed along the hedge before quickly tumbling downward onto the pavement, and for just one moment, I lost control. I opened my mouth wide, and screamed out into the darkness, more out of fear than pain before I felt myself go into shock. Mello stood next to me, cursing without breath before picking me up and running with me down the street in his arms.

"Ohfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," his voice hitched up and down, staccato like his thoughts. [Got to run. Roger woke up? What street are we on? Is he hurt? Oh shit, I hope he is...fucking bastard.]

It had been some time before I sustained injuries severe enough to activate my ability to perceive the collective without the presence of my usually trigger. Collective, that's what I've always called it, the thoughts and ideas of those both living and dead. You'll perhaps be interested to know that thoughts are surprisingly difficult to contain, and in some cases, for example the ideas or characteristics most crucial to our identity, data such as a person's name and (perceived) life span can be seen floating directly above them in space. I believe that severe injury allows me to shut off some part of my brain, more focused on perceiving the mundane, and thus see what most people cannot, though I wouldn't be surprised if I never find out the exact reasoning behind the cause and effect.

"Roger didn't wake up, he's a surprisingly heavy sleeper, but the guards are after us. That little ruckus you caused with the gate got them moving quite quickly, as I expected. If you turn right and hide in that alley they won't follow you. Look forward to them calling the police after about twenty minutes, that's when we really have to worry."

"Bullshit if you think I'm listening to you," Mello showed no signs of calming down, and unfortunately, I was in no condition to rationalize with him. My world was echoing not only with voices, but thoughts, and if I knew one thing for certain that Mello hated, it was pain. I dug my nails into his skin.

"You're going to, or I'll just have to dig deeper until you do," I tightened my grip for emphasis, feeling the slightest prick of blood underneath my fingertips. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't have time for anything else, and I knew that he had no intention of dropping me no matter what I did. He opened his eyes wide in rage, gritting his teeth before giving in. [You'll pay for this.]

He quickly turned into the narrow, dirty alley, sitting, almost falling into position away from the well-lit street we had just come from. I heard the sound of heavy rubber boots on concrete a few minutes later, growing louder at first, and finally reaching only a whisper. We were safe, but not for much longer unless we kept moving.

As I rose to get up, an action I actually doubted I was capable of with the injuries I sustained, I realized that Mello was still holding me, and tightly. My typical aptitude for awareness was far from up to speed yet, and I was distracted by the hollow, ghostly echoes of thoughts streaming from the apartment building we were currently lying against. I gave up my struggle against the taller, and far stronger boy, deciding that the effort necessary to get him to leave was not crucial for at least a few more minutes.

"The fuck did you do that for, Near?" Mello whispered, keeping his tone perfectly flat.

"We'd be on our way back to Wammy's in handcuffs if I hadn't. Your stubbornness leaves room for little else but aggressive action. If it makes you feel any better, I would have preferred not to under any other circumstances."

"Oh yeah, that just totally clears everything right up. I feel so much better now that you said that. But really, you want me to be honest with you? I'm really pretty fucking pissed, and you know, I don't think I'm going to let you go any time soon," by the slowly rising anger returning to his voice, I began to realize that I had crossed some severe boundaries with Mello; our chances of having any sort of cordial conversation in the immediate future were slim. I sighed, trying my best to overcome the fact that my thoughts were being flooded by one apartment-dweller's worries about being able to feed the dog while she was away on business.

"If that's the case, the only thing that is going to change for us is our arrival at Wammy's by police car as opposed to on foot. To be honest with you, I'm getting quite a headache here, and am far from impressed with you perseverance abilities right now. I believe this was your plan in the first place, Mello, and it's not like you to not finish what you start. Right now, you seem to be making a passive, but deliberate, effort to fail."

"Okay, smartass. In that case, why don't you do something that'll get me to move, seeing as how I've clearly been _injured_ by someone, not going to say any names."

I sighed, realizing that yet again, Mello was planning some sort of task in an effort for retribution. In a way, the oddly predictable aspects of his character were endearing.

"Give me your terms, Mello."

"Place your arms where I can reach them and hold still," he commanded harshly into my ear, taking advantage of his alignment with my body. His skills in intimidation were clearly intuitive, and I doubt that even if this weren't a necessity, his effect would remain equally persuasive. I drew my arms away from each other, bracing myself for what was to follow as he began to remove my navy jacket.

At first it was soft, more of a caress than an effort toward punishment, but before long, his nails began to dig in deeper, like termites to a log. Nonetheless, I willed myself not to withdraw, allowing only a single tear to drop across my cheek. Though my connection with the collective had begun to fade, the beat of Mello's heart strong against my cheek revealed the tiny seed of hesitation he felt for his actions. At last, he ceased, letting his hands fall back without a word.

Sensing conclusion, I pulled my arms up to examine the damage. _Yes, Mello hates pain…unless he's the inflictor._ I had memories of one girl who became so anxious one day during an accelerated French test that she tore a good portion of her left cheek away during class. It caused quite a commotion when the teacher finally noticed; ambulances had to be called to a specified destination cleared for visitors, and she never returned to the Wammy House. Though perhaps not serious enough for hospitalization with my medical talents, it needed to be bandaged quickly.

With a quick manipulation of my abdomen, I was able to pull my body away from the boys lap, landing my arms against the cool concrete and watching the blood pour down like a soft trickle of rain from a marble column. I pulled myself up with a wince onto my knees, my bowlegged, weak, pathetic knees, wondering if they would ever be able to take the strain of carrying my standing form again.

Likewise, I wondered if the stains leaking across my shirt would ever come out, not that it really mattered. I took the fabric, and with all my strength, tore it from my body in ragged strips. Perhaps it was a counter-productive effort; the strain on my muscles only caused the blood to leak out faster. I could hear Mello gasping behind me, perhaps concerned with what he had done?

"Consider it revenge," he said, portraying anything but confidence in his speech.

"Rather harsh, don't you think?" I called back, holding back a grunt of pain.

"Eye for an eye."

"I'd have to say, I consider this more of an arm for a love tap sort of situation."

"Ha, you call that a fucking love tap?"

"And you consider this," I said, trying my best to avoid an argumentative tone, "fair retribution?"

Before he could respond, I tied off the makeshift bandages, grabbed at my coat and struggled to my feet, leaning against the wall next to me for support before propelling myself slowly forward. I did not hear him following me.

I only managed to struggle forward for a few feet before I fell into a fetal position. And that's when I lost it. Through the pain, I slammed my fists on the ground in front of me and screamed like a child. All those years of holding back became null and void, and before long, both my hair and face were soaked in tears. Years of never receiving help, of self-sufficiency caught up to me. I was a thirteen-year-old child, and I needed someone to take care of me, just like nobody ever had.

"Why? Why won't anyone bloody help me?" I screamed into the empty, cold air.

My heart skipped in surprise when suddenly, I felt a warm hand cover my mouth, catching the tears streaming down to my neck and pulling me upward.

"Will you shut the fuck up, kid? Someone's gonna hear you," Mello whispered roughly into my ear, standing there next to me when I least expected it. With Mello, I suppose that was the closest thing to a genuine apology I ever had hope of receiving.

But actions always speak louder than words, and he's full of action, and life, and strength. Cradling me like a child, he pulled me upwards into his chest, and nestled his chin against my moon-pale hair. Without a word, without a sound, without a complaint he stumbled forward out of the darkness with me in his arms.


End file.
